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Show Redeemed Brentwood Stables The Weekly Short Story By GENEVRA COOK up BADY with your horses for the 2:J0 trot I" boomed the voice of Judge Crawford from his flag-draped stand. Bob Brant stood beside Bonny Bell, his heart thumping wildly. He had to make good! Only last night Beverly Stanwood had said to him the words that had brought him here today. "You haven't a racing heart I" Because since he had Inherited In-herited Brentwood stables from his uncle he hadn't kept them up, had sold one horse after the other until un-til only Bonny Bell was left, she had turned cool to him. j "Entered In the 2 :10 trot, purse $20,000," called the judge. ("Enough to build up the stables again," l thought Bob.) "Race is run in . four heats. Air Mail has the pole. Speed Demon first place. Son o' Satan second place. Bonny Bell of Brentwood stables third place." For a fleeting instant Bob won-! won-! dered what Beverly had thought t when she heard the name. - "Co!" They were off down the track, Son o' Satan leading, Air Mail holding the pole. Bonny Bell, ears flat against her head, stretched her supple body in a long stream line against the background of low white fence. Bob touched the whip to the shoulders of his mare; she sped forward, straight, slim, swift halfway round and she had passed "Speed Demon, was even with Air Mail. Three-quarters, and she was up to the shoulder of Son o" Satan ; up to his neck ; even ; and, her nose stretched forward. Dimly Bob was aware of the roaring of the stands, of the voice of Judge Crawford calling: "Results of the 2:10 trot First neat. "Bonny Bell, first, with first money. "Air Mail" Then, over the heads of the swarming people around the stalls, he saw Beverly. Slender, straight, and smiling, she stood there, her black curls tumbling over the scarlet scar-let of her leather jacket, her hand raised toward him, waving. Hob Brent never remembered the interval till he led Bonny Bell, freshly curried and groomed, onto the track for the second heat. His horse started well. For the first half round she led the field with ease. At the grandstand Son o' Satan, recovering his original speed, climbed up to her shoulder. Almost neck and neck they went over the line and down the track. Biff Spruggis, driving Son o' Satan, leaned forward and cut with the whip. Son o' Satan sprang at the lash, swerved to cut in on Bob's horse, caught In the wheel there was a crash a thud Boh Brent opened his eyes dizzily diz-zily to the mingled scents of hay and ammonia. Tubby, the stable boy, was bending over him, nn open bottle in one smudgy hand. Bob groaned and twisted himself up on to his side. "I guess it's all over boy," he said miserably. "Come on and see!" urged Tubby. For the first time Bob became aware of confusion and shouting nt the track. The clamor swelled as, leaning on Tubby's willing shoulder, he reached the door. And then he saw. Riding down the track, her scarlet scar-let coat and black curls flying behind be-hind her, leaning far forward over the dash, her eyes on her horse, came Beverly Stanwood, driving Bonny Bell, last in the field! "Come on, Bonny Bell," she called. "Come on 1" Nose forward, up to Air Mall, past the shrieking stands; shoulder shoul-der to shoulder with Speed Demon, flashing by Judge Crawford; nose to flank with Son o' Satan; holding it, nose to flank. , "Which heat?" gasped Bob. "Fourth!" yelled Tubby, nearly bursting with excitement. "Son o' Satan got the second, and she got the third 1" Nose to shoulder, and three-quarters of the track gone. Nose and nose and by the frantic stands. And again that slim uose stretching out, a scarlet flash past the Judge's stand, and over the line to win the race! There must have been shouting and throwing of hats in the air, prize money and a leading of Bonny Bon-ny Bell past cheering stands; but of the rest of this day. Bob Brent could remember only one thing. He could remember that he and Beverly stood nt sunset out past the redeemed Brentwood stables, where the hill rises to meet the sky, their bands resting together on the shoulder of Bonny Bell. And just as the sun droped low over the western horizon, Beverly came into his outstretched arms and lifted her face to his. "I wa's wrong about what 1 said before, Bob," she whispered, and her voice was tremulous. "You have a racing heart." "Oh, Beverly I I do have a racing rac-ing heart," he answered her whisper. whis-per. "Put your hand on it, dear, and feel how it's racing for you!" (Copyripht) |